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Philadelphia : 

Printed by King & Baird. 
No. 9 George Street. 


CONTENTS 


The S age and Linnet, - 5 

The Sky-Lark, 9 

The Discontented Mole, - - - 11 

The Dainty Heron, - - - - 17 

The Stolen Child, 24 

The Rainbow, 47 

The Fairy Experiment, - - - 51 

The Ocean, 64 

Lucy and Ifer Dog, or the two Friends, - 68 

The Origin of the Snowdrop, - - 78 

The Stars, 81 

Corners of Time, - - - 85 

To My Dog, 90 


iv CONTENTS. 

The Complaints of the Poor, 94 

The Rival Graces, 98 

Recreation and Dissipation, - - 106 

A Cure for Disobedience, - - - 130 

Jane, the Kind Girl, - - - - 139 

Hector and Peter, - - - - 143 

Hymn, by the sick^bed of a Mother, - 163 

The Rivers, 165 


486555 
JUL 1 7 1942 


5 


THE SAGE AND LINNET. 


A wise old man, one summer’s day, 
Was walking in a lonely wood, 
And there, upon a leafless spray, 

A linnet sang in solitude. 


The old man spake, “ Come, pretty thing, 
Pray tell me why you nestle here ? 

And why so gaily do you sing, 

When all around is dark and drear ? 


6 


THE SAGE AND LINNET. 


“ Why spurn the meadow and the field, 
Where blushing flowers invite thy stay, 
And many a raptured bird would yield 
Its willing praises to thy lay ?” 


The linnet answered, “ Hath a sage 
Come here to learn of me the truth? 
And must I tell to hoary age 
A lesson fit for blooming youth ? 


“ Of all the gifts that heaven doth mete 
In mercy to its creatures dear, 
There’s none to me so pure, so sweet, 
As peace ; and, sage, I find it here ? 


THE SAGE AND LINNET. 


7 


“ ’Mid garnished fields, and meadows gay. 
There’s many a falcon, many a snare ; 

I shun them all ; and, far away, 

Poor, yet content, my lot 1 share. 


“The listening of my gentle mate 
Repays me for my happiest song. 
And oft from dawn to evening late 
I sing, nor find the hours too ong. 


“Yon rippling stream my cup supplies 
The wild flowers yield for me their seed ; 
This bowering fir, from winter skies 
Is all the shelter that I need. 


8 


THE SAGE AND LINNET. 


“ Then do not scorn my humble lot, 
Nor deem that wealth alone is bliss, 
For peace within the humblest cot, 
With calm content, is happiness.” 




















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11 


THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 

A FABLE. • 

# 

A young mole having crept out 
into the sun, one day, met with its 
mother, and began to complain of 
its lot. 

“ I have been thinking,” said he, 
“that we lead a very stupid life, 
burrowing under the ground, and 
dwelling in perpetual darkness. For 
my part, I think it would be much 


12 the discontented mole. 

better to live above board, and caper 
about in the sun-light, like the 
squirrels.” 

“It may seem so to you,” said 
the wise olcl mole, “ but beware of 
forming hasty opinions. It is an 
old remark, that it takes all sorts of 
people to make a world. Some 
creatures live upon the trees, but 
nature has provided them with 
claws, which make it easy and safe 
for them to climb. Some dwell in 
the water; but they are supplied 
with fins, which render it easy for 
them to move about, and with a 


THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 


13 


contrivance by means of which they 
breathe where other creatures would 
be drowned. Some creatures glide 
through the air, but they are endow- 
ed with wings, without which it 
would be vain to attempt to fly. 
The truth is, that every individual 
is made to fill some place in the scale 
of being, and he best seeks his own 
happiness in following the path 
which his Creator has marked out 
for him. We may wisely seek to 
better our condition by making that 
path as pleasant as possible, but not 
attempt to pursue one which we are 


14 THE discontented mole. 

unfitted to follow. You will best 
consult your interest by endeavour- 
ing to enjoy all that properly belongs 
to a mole, instead of striving to swim 
like a fish, climb like a squirrel, or 
fly like a bird. Content is the great 
blessing of life. You may enjoy 
this in the quiet security of your 
sheltered abode ; the proudest tenant 
of the earth, air, or sea, can do no 
more.” 

The young mole replied ; “ This 
may seem very wise to you, but it 
sounds like nonsense to me. I am 
determined to burrow in the earth 


THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 15 

no more, but to dash out in style 
like other gay people.” So saying, 
he crept upon a little mound for the 
purpose of looking about and seeing 
what course of pleasure he should 
adopt. While in this situation, he 
was snapped up by a hawk, which 
carried him to a tall tree, and de- 
voured him without ceremony. 

This fable may teach us the folly 
of that species of discontent which 
would lead us to grasp at pleasures 
beyond our reach, or indulge envy 
towards those who are in the pos- 
session of more wealth than we. 


16 THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 

We should endeavour to fulfil the 
duties of that station in which we 
are placed, and not grumble that 
some other lot is not assigned to us. 
We may lawfully seek to better our 
condition, hut this should he done 
rather by excelling in that profession 
which we have chosen, than by en- 
deavouring to shine in one for which 
we are unfitted. 


17 


THE DAINTY HERON. 

Two little girls once went out 
into a field to gather flowers. Here 
they found buttercups, dandelions, 
violets, and many other pretty blos- 
soms. One of the children was 
pleased with every thing, and began 
to pluck such flowers as she met 
with. 

In a little while this girl had col- 
lected quite a bunch of flowers, and 
though some of them were not very 

2 * 


18 


THE DAINTY HERON. 


pretty, yet all together, they made 
a beautiful boquet. 

The other child was more dainty, 
and determined to have no flowers 
but such as were very beautiful. 
She disdained to gather the dande- 
lions, for they were so common ; 
and she would not have the butter- 
cups, for they were all of one colour, 
and did not take her fancy. Even 
the blue violets were not good 
enough for her. 

Thus the little pair wandered on 
through the field till they were 
about to return home. By this 


THE DAINTY HERON. 19 

time the dainty child, seeing that 
her sister had a fine collection of 
flowers, while she had none, began 
to think it best to take such as she 
could get. But now the flowers 
were scarce ; not even a dandelion, 
a buttercup, or a violet, was to he 
found. At length, the little girl 
begged a single dandelion of her 
sister, and thus they returned home. 

When the two children went to 
their mother, she asked how it hap- 
pened that one had so pretty a bo- 
quet while the other had but a single 
flower. The children told their 


20 THE DAINTY HERON. 

story, and their mother^ then spoke 
to them as follows 

“ My dear children, let this little 
event teach you a useful lesson. 
Jane has been the wiser of the two. 
Content with such flowers as came 
in her way, and not aiming at what 
was beyond her reach, she has been 
successful in her pursuit, and has 
brought back a beautiful bunch of 
posies. But Laura, who could not 
stoop to pick up buttercups and dan- 
delions, because she wanted some- 
thing more beautiful than could be 
found, collected nothing from the 


THE DAINTY HERON. 21 

field, and was finally obliged to beg 
a dandelion of her sister. 

“ Thus it will always happen, my 
children, in passing through life. 
If you are content with simple 
pleasures and innocent enjoyments, 
such as are scattered freely along 
your path, you will, day by day, 
gather enough to make you con- 
tented and happy. If, on the con- 
trary, you scorn simple pleasures, 
and innocent enjoyments, and reach 
after those which are more rare and 
difficult to be obtained, you will 
meet with frequent disappointment, 


22 


THE DAINTY HERON. 


and at last become dependent upon 
others. 

“To impress all this on your 
minds, let me tell you the fable of 
the dainty heron. This long-legged 
bird was once standing on the edge 
of a brook, the waters of which were 
so clear that he could see every thing 
that was swimming by. Soon a fine 
trout swam past, but the heron 
thought that he would wait for 
something better. Then came a 
perch, but this was not good enough. 
Then other fishes passed by, but still 
the dainty bird could see nothing 


THE DAINTY HERON. 23 

that suited his palate. So he kept 
standing by the brook, until at 
length all the fishes were gone. 

66 The heron now grew very 
hungry, and would have been glad 
to take any one of the fishes he had 
seen. Finally, as the evening was 
drawing nigh, he was obliged to 
make a poor supper upon a snail 
which he found in the grass.” 


24 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 

Little Edward was an only 
son, and as he was of a very sweet 
disposition, he was a universal favor- 
ite. His open and cheerful counte- 
nance, lit up as it was by a pair of 
the most smiling blue eyes, gained 
him the favour of almost every one 
with whom he happened to come 
into contact. 

With grandpapa he was a special 
pet ; and as the old gentleman was 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 25 

very fond of music, and performed 
delightfully on the violin, he fre- 
quently amused himself by playing 
some lively tunes to Edward while 
nurse taught him to dance. It was 
thus that he took his first steps in 
this accomplishment. When he 
grew old enough to be able to walk 
about with grandpapa without any 
one to attend him, the two were 
almost inseparable companions, and 
daily rambled in the fields in the 
neighbourhood of their residence. 

One day grandpapa proposed that 
they should go to a wood some miles 


26 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


off to gather nuts which grew there 
in great abundance. Edward was 
delighted. Mounted on a little 
pony (it was too far for him to 
walk,) he trotted gaily along by the 
side of grandpapa. The day was 
most charming. The sun shone 
brilliantly, and all nature seemed 
clothed in smiles. Edward was 
equally smiling and happy ; now 
chatting to grandpapa with even 
more than his usual volubility ; now 
stooping down and patting his pony, 
and lavishing on it all imaginable 
terms of endearment. 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


27 


They at length arrived at the 
skirts of the wood, and after giving 
the pony in charge to the owner of 
a little cottage which stood on its 
confines, they walked on, and when 
they came to a fine shady spot at 
the foot of a rock, from which 
flowed a spring of the clearest 
w T ater, they sat down and partook of 
the little lunch with which grand- 
papa had provided himself. 

When they had finished their 
frugal repast, they proceeded on to 
a sunny bank, on which grandpapa 
knew the trees always bore a plenti- 


28 THE STOLEN CHILD. 

ful crop of the finest nuts. As 
they passed along, Edward was de- 
lighted at the sight of several squir- 
rels leaping about from bough to 
bough, tossing their long bushy tails, 
now and then stopping for an instant 
to gaze at the intruders in their 
solitude, and then perking their ears 
and darting off again so quickly that 
they seemed absolutely to fly. 

“ Can’t we catch one, grandpapa?” 
asked Edward. “I fear they are 
too nimble for us,” said grandpapa; 
“ but we shall see. I have heard of 
their being caught, especially the 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


29 


young ones, which cannot move 
about so rapidly as the old ones.” 

They had now arrived at one of 
the bleakest and most lonely parts 
of the forest. The trees grew close 
together, and their thick branches 
almost excluded the light of day. 
By and by, however, the forest be- 
came less gloomy, and an occasional 
sunbeam found its way among the 
straggling branches. Just as Ed- 
ward began to breathe more freely, 
and feel glad that he had escaped 
from the lonely place, which he 
afterwards said seemed to him just 


30 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


such a spot as that in which the 
cruel men abandoned the “Children 
in the Wood,” he saw running along 
the ground at a short distance before 
them, a squirrel which apparently 
sought to conceal itself among the 
loose leaves which lay scattered 
about. 

“See! grandpapa, see! can’t we 
catch this one,” he cried ; and in an 
instant both started off in pursuit of 
the little creature. It seemed to 
move with less quickness than usual, 
so both pursued for some distance, 
when it leaped across a little rill, 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


31 


and was on the point of escaping. 
On each side of the rill the ground 
was moist and boggy, it seemed 
therefore as if it would be necessary 
to give up the chase, but Edward 
was so anxious to secure it that 
grandpapa after telling him on no 
account to move from the place, 
managed to pick his steps across and 
continue the pursuit. 

At first it appeared as if he would 
be successful. In attempting to leap 
from one branch of a tree to an- 
other, the squirrel fell to the ground 
and seemed to be stunned. But 


32 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


before grandpapa could secure it, it 
recovered and again went off, slowly 
however, and evidently much fa- 
tigued. He therefore continued to 
follow, at every minute expecting to 
lay hold of the little animal, which 
seemed to want sufficient strength 
to mount among the higher branch- 
es, but kept moving from branch to 
branch almost within reach. 

Almost as soon as grandpapa 
disappeared, Edward half afraid to 
remain alone, and feeling very de- 
sirous to secure the squirrel, began 
to search for some place where he 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


33 


could cross the barrier which had 
obstructed his progress. He searched 
about, and as the rill seemed to en- 
large and the ground to become 
more boggy as it proceeded, he ran 
as far as his little legs would carry 
him in an opposite direction. It 
was some time, however, before he 
found a place to cross, and when he 
did succeed in reaching the other 
side, instead of following the course 
of the water, he determined to take 
a short cut and reach the place 
where he thought grandpapa must 
be. He proceeded boldly for some 


34 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


time, but seeing no trace of grand- 
papa, he turned back determined to 
return to the spot which he had left, 
and await his arrival there. 

He had wandered so far, how- 
ever, that he was quite bewildered, 
and instead of going to the place 
from which he had started, he went 
in quite a contrary direction, and 
without being aware of his mistake 
he proceeded some time. At length, 
thinking he ought by this time to 
have reached the rill, he stopped 
and looked about him. He could 
not see far, and the trees looked so 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 35 

much alike that he could not tell 
the one from the other. Young as 
he was, however, Edward knew that 
it was of no use to stay where he 
was. He brushed away the tears 
which began to gather in his eyes, 
and again started off. He called 
aloud, but the sound of his voice 
died away among the trees, startling 
the squirrels and the wood-pigeons, 
but no answering call met his ear. 

He still proceeded onward, every 
minute getting deeper into the 
forest, and farther away from the 
place where he ought to have re- 


36 THE STOLEN CHILD. 

mained. He at length came to a 
part of the wood which was com- 
paratively open, and was overjoyed 
to see at a little distance a light 
column of smoke curling up into 
the air. Tired though he was with 
his long ramble, the sight gave him 
fresh energy, and he ran forward 
expecting to find that it proceeded 
from the cottage where they had 
left their ponies in the morning ; in 
this, however, he was mistaken. 
When he came within sight he 
found it was caused by the fire of a 
gipsy encampment. 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 37 

Edward hesitated. He felt afraid 
to approach, and would almost have 
ventured to go back into the forest 
rather than to approach the gipsies’ 
tents, w r hen, just as he was on the 
point of escaping, he was accosted 
by one of the tribe. Edward told 
her how he had lost himself in the 
forest, and how anxious he was to 
find grandpapa. With many kind 
phrases the old woman desired him 
to come with her and she would 
soon find grandpapa for him. 

In the mean time grandpapa, who 
had been led much further in his 


38 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


pursuit of the squirrel than he in- 
tended, returned to the place where 
he left Edward, and not finding 
him, searched about for some time 
and called him by name, but re- 
ceiving no answer, and seeing no 
trace of the boy, he at first thought 
that he had concealed himself, and 
giving up the search waited patiently 
expecting that he would make his 
appearance. When some time had 
elapsed, and finding that he did not 
return, he became very anxious, 
and after calling aloud retraced his 
steps to the cottage where the ponies 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


39 


had been left. Finding that he was 
not there, grandpapa once more re- 
turned to the forest, accompanied by 
several persons, to search everywhere 
for the lost child. 

Evening came, however, and all 
the messengers returned without 
being able to throw any light on the 
mysterious disappearance of the boy. 
Grandpapa remained in the forest 
all night, that he might be ready to 
resume the search in the morning. 
Edward’s parents, alarmed by the 
inquiries of a messenger who had 
been despatched to see if he had not 


40 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


found his way home, also arrived to 
assist in the search. It was all in 
vain. Every corner of the forest 
was searched, but no traces of him 
could he discovered. Recent traces 
of the gipsies were indeed noticed, 
but they w T ere soon lost, and sorrow- 
ful and almost heart-broken they all 
returned home. 

Edward and his gipsy friend pro- 
ceeded towards the encampment 
and after a few minutes consultation 
with her companions, one of them 
went off pretending to seek for 
grandpapa, while Edward was in- 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


41 


troduced into one of the tents, and 
regaled on the remains of the dinner 
which the gipsies appeared to have 
finished but a short time before. In 
the mean time, he could observe 
that the fire whose smoke had at- 
tracted his notice, was hastily extin- 
guished, and several donkeys belong- 
ing to the tribe were gathered in 
from the forest. The messenger 
who had gone in search of grandpapa 
returned in about half an hour, say- 
ing that he had found him, and that 
he wished them to bring Edward to 
him. 


3* 


42 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


The tents were immediately 
struck, and being hastily tied toge- 
ther, were placed on the backs of 
the’ donkeys. Little Edward was 
placed in one of the panniers, and 
they moved off. For some time 
they skirted the wood, proceeding 
noiselessly and stealthily on their 
way, and calming Edward’s occa- 
sional inquiries by the assurance that 
they were but a very short distance 
from the place where they were to 
meet grandpapa. In a little time, 
however, they left the forest, and 
proceeded across a wild and desolate 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


43 


part of the country. The shades of 
evening now approached, and anxi- 
ous as Edward felt, tired with his 
unusual exertion, he fell fast asleep. 
Once or twice he awoke during the 
night, and he found himself still 
seated in the pannier, and the whole 
body still moving forward, and on 
his asking for grandpapa he was told 
by a rough voice to be quiet. In 
the morning they left the track 
which they had been following for 
some time, and striking off towards 
a little valley which opened between 
two lone hills at a short distance 


44 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


they encamped, and after partaking 
of a hearty meal they lay down to 
rest. 

TWards evening the gipsies again 
prepared to set out, and after travel- 
ling for two or three nights in this 
manner, thinking themselves out of 
all danger of discovery, they pro- 
ceeded more openly. Poor little 
Edward was stripped of the clothes 
which he wore when he left home, 
and dressed in a ragged suit of such 
apparel as the wardrobe of the gip- 
sies afforded. His face being un- 
washed soon became stained and 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 45 

gipsy-looking, and he was sent out 
with some of the women on expe- 
ditions into the neighbouring towns 
— where, partly by stealing, and 
partly by selling small household 
articles which they manufactured, 
they contrived to gain a livelihood. 

Although so young, Edward felt 
how very wrong were many of the 
practices of which he saw his com- 
panions guilty, and steadily refused 
to have any thing to do with them. 
He was forced to accompany the 
gipsies in these expeditions, but he 


46 


THE STOLEN CHILD. 


would on no account assist in their 
dishonest practices. 

At length their evil deeds brought 
them under the power of the magis- 
trates, and on its being discovered 
that Edward had been kidnapped 
by the gipsies, proper inquiry was 
made, and he was once more restored 
to his heart-broken friends, who had 
by this time given up all hopes of 
his recovery, never it is hoped to be 
the means of inflicting so severe a 
punishment on them as the fruit of 
his disodience. 



✓ 























































47 




THE RAINBOW. 


BY MRS. HEMANS. 




I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token 
of a covenant between me and the earth. 

Genesis ix. 13. 


Soft falls the mild, reviving shower 
From April’s changeful skies, 

And rain-drops bend each trembling flower 
They tinge with richer dyes. 


48 


THE RAINBOW. 


Soon shall their genial influence call 
A thousand buds to day, 

Which, waiting but their balmy fall, 
In hidden beauty lay. 


E’en now full many a blossom’s bell 
With fragrance fills the shade ; 

And verdure clothes each glassy dell, 
In brighter tints arrayed. 


But, mark ! what arch of varied hue 
From heaven to earth is bowed ? 
Haste, ere it vanish, haste to view 
The Rainbow in the cloud. 


THE RAINBOW. 


49 


How bright its glory ! there behold 
The emerald’s verdant rays, 

The topaz blends its hue of gold 
With the deep ruby’s blaze. 


Yet not alone to charm thy sight 
W as given the vision fair ; — 
Gaze on that arch of colored light, 
And read God’s mercy there. 


It tells us that the mighty deep, 

Fast by th’ Eternal chained, 

No more o’er earth’s domains shall sweep, 
Awful and unrestrained. 


50 


THE RAINBOW. 


It tells that seasons, heat and cold, 
Fixed by his sovereign will, 

Shall, in their course, bid man behold 
Seed-time and harvest still ; 


That still the flower shall deck the field, 
When vernal zephyrs blow ; 

That still the vine its fruit shall yield, 
When autumn sun-beams glow. 


Then, child of that fair earth ! which yet 
Smiles with each charm endowed, 
Bless thou His name, whose mercy set 
The Rainbow in the cloud ! 


51 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 

Once upon a time there lived in 
one of the sweetest and most seques- 
tered nooks in the country, a band 
of fairies. They dwelt in a charm- 
ing little valley, all enamelled with 
nameless flowers, sequestered among 
a range of lofty mountains, where 
all the beauties of nature seemed to 
have come together in happy har- 
mony. A foaming torrent, after 
dashing down the mountain side, 


52 THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 

wandered with sweet delay all 
round the little vale, as if loth to 
lose itself again among the cliffs 
that environed it, and finally stole 
away silently through an almost 
invisible opening among the hills. 

Beyond the mountains which sur- 
rounded the abode of the little elfin 
race, there lived an old man whose 
sole possessions were a poor cottage 
miserably out of repair, and a little 
field which he had now become too 
decrepid to cultivate. Poor as he 
was, however, the old man was kind 
hearted and hospitable. While he 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 53 

had he gave away, nor did the beg- 
gar ever want food ; or the traveller 
lodging so long as the old man had 
a house over his head, or a handful 
of meal in his barrel. 

One day it happened that an ar- 
gument arose among the fairies 
about the effects of prosperity and 
adversity on the character of man- 
kind. Much was said on both sides, 
and the debate was beginning to 
assume an angry aspect, when a sage 
old fairy proposed to bring the 
question to the test of experiment. 
“ Let us try the effect of both upon 


54 THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 

the old man on the other side of the 
mountain. He is now poor and 
charitable : let us see what effect 
competence first, and then wealth, 
will have upon his heart.” This 
was at once agreed to. 

It happened that the season had 
been unfavourable, and the old man’s 
crop of corn, always but scanty, was 
now diminished to just enough of 
flour to make one loaf. When that 
was gone he did not know where to 
get more, for all the country round 
was almost as badly of!' as himself. 

As he sat at his door in the twi- 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 


55 


light, smoking his pipe, and thinking 
what would become of him when 
his last loaf was eaten, on a sudden 
there appeared before him a misera- 
ble old woman, the very picture of 
starvation. Her eyes were hollow, 
and her cheeks sunken ; her dress 
was in tatters, and she seemed to 
drag her shoeless feet with difficulty 
over the ground, supporting herself 
on a staff which bent beneath her 
weight. 

The old man’s heart yearned with 
compassion. He arose and offered 


56 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 


her his seat, on which she sunk 
exhausted, and begged him to give 
her something to eat, for she was 
famishing. “ Alas !” said the old 
man, 66 if I give to you I must starve 
myself. I have but one mess of 
flour left, and when that is gone I 
know not where to get another.” 
“ Then God help me ! I must 
perish,” said the old woman ; “ I 
have not tasted food for two days !” 
66 That must not be,” said the old 
man, “ I will share my last meal 
with you, and trust to Providence 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 


57 


for the future.” So he emptied his 
flour into a dish, and baked a little 
loaf, and they partook of it together. 

When they had finished their 
humble meal, the old woman rose, 
and, after thanking him earnestly, 
she told him to put his empty barrel 
out by the side of the spring at 
night. The old man asked her why 
he should do so, but she refused to 
answer his question, and again thank- 
ing him she went on her way. 

Though he thought it a foolish 
piece of nonsense, the old man did 
put his empty barrel out by the side 

4 


58 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 


of the spring, and in the morning, 
lo ! he found it filled to the brim 
with corn ! The next night he 
again placed it as before, and it was 
again filled. The old man felt 
thankful and happy. 

By and by, however, it came into 
his head that he might as well try 
if the same thing would not happen 
if he put two barrels out instead of 
one, and finding that both were filled, 
he began to think what he would do 
with the superfluity, as he had now 
more than he wanted. At first he 
thought of giving it away to his poor 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. . 59 

neighbours, who were still suffering 
from the scanty harvest, but a feel- 
ing of avarice came over him, and 
he resolved to sell it at a high price. 

He counted the money which he 
received for the corn over daily, 
turning it over and over, and every 
day he seemed to love it better than 
before. Thinking it did not increase 
fast enough, he resolved to put three 
barrels by the spring, and finding 
that they were filled, he increased 
the number till they amounted to a 
dozen. As he continued to sell the 
corn at a very high price, he was 


60 THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 

soon one of the richest men in all 
the country round. He built a fine 
house, dressed in rich garments, and 
thought of nothing night or day but 
getting money. He was no longer 
charitable and kind-hearted ; and, 
when the poor came to beg a little 
supply of corn, he drove them con- 
temptuously from his door. 

Meanwhile he continued to in- 
crease the number of the barrels ; 
but, instead of the quantity of 
corn increasing, it daily diminished. 
Every night the barrels were less 
and less full, till at last, from being 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 61 

only half full, he could in the morn- 
ing now see the bottom of each. 
He resolved to watch and try to 
learn whence the corn came, and 
why the supply began to fail. He 
got into a tree which overhung the 
spring, and, after waiting some time, 
he saw a train of little tiny elves 
streaming down from the mountain, 
and each bearing a couple of grains 
of corn which they deposited in the 
barrel and flew off again with the 
swiftness of thought. Quick as they 
were, however, they were not quick 
enough for the avaricious old man, 


62 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 


and, thinking to urge them on, he 
called out to them to make haste. 
In an instant off darted the fairies 
with a loud shriek, and disappeared 
behind the mountain like a flock of 
birds. 

In the morning he found his 
barrels quite empty, and they were 
never filled again. On going to 
count his money, it too was gone ; 
and soon his fine house and costly 
furniture followed, and the poor old 
man was left more miserable than 
before. 

When the fairies again met to 


THE FAIRY EXPERIMENT. 


63 


consider the result of their experi- 
ment, they determined to reward 
virtue not by bestowing wealth or 
power, but by endowing it with a 
blameless conscience, a benevolent 
heart, and a contented mind. 


64 


THE OCEAN. 


BY MRS. HEMANS. 


They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business 
in great waters, these see the works of the Lord, and 
his wonders in the deep. 

Psalm cvii. 23, 24. 


He that in venturous barks hath been 
A wanderer on the deep, 

Can tell of many an awful scene, 
Where storms for ever sweep. 




« 



• % 


THE OCEAN. 


65 


For many a fair, majestic sight 
Hath met his wandering eye, 
Beneath the streaming northern light, 
Or blaze of Indian sky. 


Go ! ask him of the whirlpool’s roar. 
Whose echoing thunder peals 
Loud, as if rushed along the shore 
An army’s chariot wheels ; 


Of icebergs, floating o’er the main, 
Or fixed upon the coast, 

Like glittering citadel or fane, 

’Mid the bright realms of frost ; 


4 * 


66 


THE OCEAN. 


Of coral rocks, from waves below 
In steep ascent that tower, 

And fraught with peril, daily grow, 
Formed by an insect’s power ; 


Of sea-fires, which at dead of night 
Shine o’er the tides afar, 

And make th’ expanse of ocean bright 
As heaven with many a star. 


O God ! thy name they well may praise, 
Who to the deep go down, 

And trace the wonders of thy ways, 
Where rocks and billows frown. 


THE OCEAN. 


G7 


If glorious be that awful deep, 

No human power can bind, 

What then art Thou, who bidst it keep 
Within its bounds confined ! 


Let heaven and earth in praise unite, 
Eternal praise to Thee, 

Whose word can rouse the tempest’s might, 
Or still the raging sea ! 


68 


LUCY AND HER DOG, OR THE 
TWO FRIENDS. 

“ Come to me, Tray ! come, and 
I will give you a piece of this nice 
cake,” cried Lucy to her dog one 
day as she sat under the shade of a 
large tree w T hich grew in her papa’s 
garden. Tray was a good dog ; he 
came at once, and, seating himself 
by her side, looked first at the cake, 
and then turned his large and intel- 
ligent eyes on Lucy’s face, as much 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


69 


as to say, “ here I am, give me the 
cake which you promised me !” 

Lucy loved her dog. She took 
him round the neck, spoke kind- 
ly to him, and gave him part 
of her cake. She knew that in 
Tray she had a kind, intelligent, 
and faithful friend. They were 
playmates, and when Lucy had said 
her lessons she often chased Tray 
up and down the garden, and across 
the lawn, till he was quite tired, 
and Tray was always so good tem- 
pered and so ready for a frolic. It 


70 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


was quite a treat to see them run- 
ning about so happily. 

One day Lucy was at play at the 
foot of the garden, where there was 
a deep pond, and as she was run- 
ning away from Tray, and thought- 
lessly looking behind to see if he 
was following, she came close up 
to the side of the pond before she 
was aware, and before she could 
stop herself she fell into the water. 
Poor Lucy might have been drown- 
ed : she screamed aloud, but as the 
house was at some distance no one 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


71 


heard her. She had time to give 
only one scream, however, before 
Tray seized her by the frock and 
dragged her out of the water. She 
was very much terrified, but not at 
all hurt, and she took care in future 
always to look before her when she 
was running. 

When the weather was bad, and 
Lucy and her playmate could not 
seek amusement out of doors, she 
taught him to play at hide and seek, 
and many a nice game they had. 
At the word of command Tray 
marched down stairs to wait till 


72 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


Lucy had hidden herself, and, on her 
calling his name, Tray ran up again 
as fast as he could, and, after seeking 
all over the room from which he 
thought the voice came, if he did 
not find her there he proceeded to 
another, all the while uttering a 
short good-natured sound, some- 
thing between a whine and a bark, 
showing how much he enjoyed the 
sport. When he did not discover 
the object of his search at once he 
walked leisurely to the door of the 
room, and then, after sniffing about 
for a short time, he seldom failed to 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


73 


go direct to the place of conceal- 
ment. Sometimes when Lucy hid 
herself in a closet, he scratched at 
the door, and harked loudly in a 
knowing sort of tone, as much as to 
say, “ I’ve found you.” 

Lucy, like many other little girls, 
had a bad habit of leaving the doors 
of the rooms into which she came 
standing open, although she found 
them shut when she entered. Her 
mama said to her one day, 66 What 
a pity it is, Lucy, that Tray cannot 
shut the door for you. I fear you 
will never learn to do so yourself.” 


74 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


“ O, yes, Mama,” exclaimed Lucy, 
“ that will be delightful, I will teach 
him !” and immediately Tray’s les- 
sons began. She took hold of him 
and spoke to him, telling him what 
she wanted him to do, just as if poor 
Tray understood every word she 
said, and promised him the reward 
of a piece of cake if he did as she 
bid him. Tray looked as grave as a 
judge. Lucy made him stand on 
his hind legs, and placed his fore 
paws against the door, giving it at 
the same time a gentle push. After 
repeating the lesson three or four 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


75 


times, Tray seemed to understand 
what she wanted, and at length he 
succeeded in shutting it himself. 
He then received his promised re- 
ward. 

Lucy was delighted with the pro- 
gress of her pupil, and next day 
bounced into the room where mama 
was sitting, followed by Tray, leav- 
ing the door standing wide open. 
“Lucy, my love,” said mama, “you 
have forgotten the door.” “ Shut 
the door, Tray !” said Lucy, with 
an air of command as if quite certain 
to be instantly obeyed. Tray look- 


76 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


ed up into her face and wagged his 
tail ! “ Shut the door, Sir !” repeated 
Lucy, in a tone more peremptory 
than before. Tray again wagged 
his tail, and, opening his jaws, 
yawned in a sort of half-tired man- 
ner, but did not stir from his seat, 
and poor Lucy, who had left the 
door open on purpose to show mama 
how nicely Tray could shut it, was 
obliged to go and do so herself. 

She did not, however, give the 
matter up, and, by dint of giving 
Tray a few lessons every day, and 
rewarding him when he was sue- 


LUCY AND HER DOG. 


77 


cessful, he soon learned what she 
wanted, and she had only to say to 
him, “Tray, shut the door !” when 
he would run at once and shut it 
as carefully as if he had been afraid 
of injuring it by closing it too ab- 
ruptly. 


78 


THE ORIGIN OF THE SNOWDROP. 


BY A LITTLE GIRL, TWELYE YEARS OF AGE. 

A snow-flake fell from the summer sky, 

As though it had burst its chain, 

Where it lies enthralled in the realms on high, 
Until winter appears again. 

It chanced to fall in a garden fair, 

Where many a flow’ret grew, 

Watched by a guardian angel’s care, 

Who bathed them all in dew. 

It rested near a blooming rose, 

That shed its fragrance round, 


ORIGIN OF THE SNOW-DROP. 


79 


Folding its leaves in soft repose, 

To a fountain’s silvery sound. 

The angel smiled on it resting there, 

And thus addressed the snow : 

“ What dost thou here, fair child of air, 

While the summer sunbeams glow ?” 

The snow-flake said: “ The flowers have died 
From the scorching sun on high, 

And, when above, I have often sighed 
To see their colours fly : 

Then I vowed to visit the earth, and give 
New life to each rosy flower, 

Bidding the drooping blossom live 
To deck the angel’s bower.” 

As the snow-flake spake, the flowers that lay 
All withering on the ground 


80 


ORIGIN OF THE SNOW-DROP. 


Bloomed with the blush of a new-born day, 
And brightness reigned around. 

Then the angel said : “If thou’lt stay with me 
Sweet pitying spirit of air, 

A beauteous form I’ll give to thee 
Than all these flowers more fair !” 

Waving her hand, there rose to view, 

On the place where the snow-flake came, 

A pure white flower, fresh crowned with dew, 
And the “ Snow-drop” is its name ! 




* 










81 


THE STARS. 


11 T MRS. HEMANS. 


The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament 
showeth his handy-work. Psalm xix. 1. 


No cloud obscures the summer sky, 
The moon in brightness walks on high, 
And, set in azure, every star 
Shines, like a gem of heaven, afar ! 


5 


82 


THE STARS. 


Child of the earth ! oh ! lift thy glance 
To yon bright firmament’s expanse ; 
The glories of its realm explore, 

And gaze, and wonder, and adore ! 


Doth it not speak to every sense 
The marvels of Omnipotence? 

Seest thou not there the Almighty name, 
Inscribed in characters of flame ? 


Count o’er those lamps of quenchless light, 
That sparkle through the shades of night ; 
Behold them ! — can a mortal boast 
To number that celestial host ? 


THE STARS. 


83 


Mark well each little star, whose rays 
In distant splendor meet thy gaze ; 

Each is a world by Him sustained, 

Who from eternity hath reigned. 

Each, shining not for earth alone, 

Hath suns and planets of its own, 

And beings, whose existence springs 
From Him, the all-powerful King of kings. 


Haply, those glorious beings know 
Nor stain of guilt, nor tear of wo ; 
But raising still the adoring voice, 
For ever in their God rejoice. 


84 


THE STARS. 


What then art thou , oh ! child of clay ! 
Amid creation’s grandeur, say ? 

E’en as an insect on the breeze, 

E’en as a dew-drop, lost in seas ! 


Yet fear thou not! — the sovereign hand, 
Which spread the ocean and the land, 
And hung the rolling spheres in air, 
Hath e’en for thee, a Father’s care ! 


Be thou at peace ! — the all-seeing eye, 
Pervading earth, and air, and sky, 

The searching glance which none may flee, 
Is still, in mercy, turned on thee. 


85 


CORNERS OF TIME. 

“ Corners of Time ! Mama 
said Harry one day when a morn- 
ing visitor had gone, to whom Mrs. 
Herbert had been speaking of the ad- 
vantage of keeping a watchful guard- 
ianship over the intervals which 
occur between finishing one occupa- 
tion and taking up another, 66 What 
did you mean ? Pray do tell me, 
Mama,” he repeated, as he saw a 
smile gathering on Mrs. Herbert’s 


86 


CORNERS OF TIME. 


face at the strangeness of the ques- 
tion. 

“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Her- 
bert, “ I am always happy to afford 
you any explanation you need. Ex- 
cuse my smile, I did not laugh at 
you , but at your question . It cer- 
tainly is an odd term, but is a very 
expressive one. I met with it some 
time ago in a book on the improve- 
ment of time, and one of the argu- 
ments by which the duty was en- 
forced was this. A celebrated au- 
thor, one who had written a great 
many books, was asked by a friend 


CORNERS OF TIME. 


87 


how he, whose time was so com- 
pletely occupied in other employ- 
ments, could find leisure for literary 
pursuits. He replied, I do it by 
improving the Corners of Time. 
When I come down stairs to break- 
fast, I find it not quite ready ; I step 
into my study, take pen, ink, and 
paper, and write a few lines. My 
thoughts continue to flow during 
breakfast, and when that is over I 
finish the sentence. In the same 
manner, when I come home to din- 
ner, the ladies are not dressed. I 


88 


CORNERS OF TIME. 


wash my hands, adjust my cravat, 
and step into my study. Ten, fifteen, 
or even twenty minutes sometimes 
elapse before I am summoned to the 
dining room, and in that time I can 
do a good deal of work. Similar 
intervals occur in the evening, and 
these I call Corners of Time.” 

“ O yes, Mama !” said Harry, “ I 
understand it now.” 

“And I hope it will make an im- 
pression on you, Harry,” said Mrs. 
Herbert. “Much may be done in 
these 4 odd moments,’ if one but uses 


CORNERS OF TIME- 


89 


them rightly. You remember the 
old saying, which I repeated to you 
a few days ago, 

1 Stroke upon stroke 
Will fell the oak.’ 


5* 


90 


TO MY DOG. 


Come hither, honest master Tray, 
And tell me how it is 
That after romping all the day 
You’ve got that solemn phiz ? 


Short while ago you were so brisk, 
Barking and bounding with such glee, 
Leaping with many a funny frisk, 

While frolicking with me. 


TO MY DOG. 


91 


I’m sure you dearly love some fun — 
Come tell me now, you elf, 

What is it you are thinking on, 

On me, or on yourself? 


If you are tired I’ll make your bed 
Under the hawthorn tree; 

And there, with nightcap on your head, 
How comical you’ll be. 


I’ll sing you about Robin Hood, 
And how he used to go 
Rambling in the merry green wood, 
With staff and bended bow 


92 


TO MY DOG. 


% 

Or else of Johnny Gilpin’s rout, 
How he lost hat and wig ! 

And never dream’t when he set out 
Of running such a rig. 


Or I’ll bring my little picture book — 
What makes you wag your tail ? 
Ah ! now you’ve such a merry look, 
There’s nothing did you all. 


I dare say you’ve been standing still, 
To let me mount your back, 

That we may scud o’er dale and hill 
Like traveller on his hack. 


TO MY DOG. 


93 


Or, soldier like, well charge the foe — 
And force them soon to yield ! 

But are we quite equipt ? Oh no ! 

I have forgot my shield. 


Well, you’re a nice, good, faithful dog. 
For it you’ll be a winner. 

Unto the house come let us jog, 

And you shall have your dinner ! 


94 


THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 


And wherefore do the poor complain ! 

The rich man asked of me : 

Come walk abroad with me, I said, 
And I will answer thee. 


’Twas evening, and the frozen streets 
Were cheerless to behold ; 

And we were wrapt and coated well, 
And yet we were a-cold. 


COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 


We met an old bare-headed man, 
His locks were few and white ; 
I asked him what he did abroad 
In that cold winter night. 


’Twas bitter, keen, indeed, he said; 

But at home no fire had he, 

And therefore he had come abroad 
To ask for charity. 


We met a young bare-footed child, 
And she begged loud and bold ; 

I asked her what she did abroad 
When the wind it blew so cold ? 


96 COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR, 


She said her father was at home, 
And he lay sick a-bed, 

And therefore was it she was sent 
Abroad to beg for bread. 


We saw a woman sitting down 
Upon a stone to rest ; 

She had a baby at her back, 
And another at her breast. 


I asked her why she loitered there, 
When the wind it was so chill ; 

She turned her head and bade the child 
That screamed behind be still. 


COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 


97 


She told us that her husband stray’d 
A soldier far away, 

And therefore to her parish she 
Was begging back her way. 


I turn’d me to the rich man then, 

For silently stood he — 

’You ask’d me why the poor complain, 
And these have answer’d thee.” 


Southey. 


98 


THE RIVAL GRACES. 

“ Come, Laura, I will play the 
little piece which I have just learnt, 
while you practise your new steps,” 
said Mary Rivers to her sister ; and, 
seating herself at the harp, after a 
short prelude, she poured forth such 
a flood of harmony as would have 
delighted the ears of Mozart him- 
self. 

Mary Rivers, though two years 
younger than her sister, was much 


THE RIVAL GRACES. 


99 


more advanced in her music, which 
she played with a taste and feeling 
quite unusual at her age. Laura, 
on the contrary, never sat down to 
the piano or the harp without feel- 
ing that she w T as engaging in a task. 
It was not for want of ear, for she 
danced delightfully, and though her 
voice was naturally musical, she sel- 
dom ventured beyond the humming 
of a tune. Of dancing, however, 
she was passionately fond, and she 
and her sister had frequent contro- 
versies as to which was the greatest 
accomplishment, music or dancing. 


100 COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 

On the day in question, when 
each had partaken of their favourite 
amusement, and were again seated 
at mama’s work-table, the contro- 
versy was resumed. “ Only think,” 
said Laura in enforcing the claims 
of her favourite, “ dancing is called 
6 the poetry of motion ;’ and I have 
read that the great philosopher Locke 
speaks of it as of the greatest impor- 
tance in education, and says that it 
cannot be learnt too early.” 

“ I dare say he does,” said Mary, 
66 but I can quote fine sayings on my 
side, as well as you. Music is called 


COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 101 

by — I can’t recollect who — the 6 lan- 
guage of the soul,’ and I dare say Mr. 
Locke, if we had him here, would 
admit that music is of still greater 
importance. Come, Mama, what 
do you say ? I am sure you will agree 
with me.” 

Mrs. Rivers, who had on this, as 
on former occasions, listened in 
silence to the reasonings of both 
parties, unwilling to interrupt them, 
so long as the argument was carried 
on with fairness and good temper on 
both sides, thus directly appealed to, 
could not refuse to give her opinion. 


102 COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 

“ I think, my dear girls, that to 
a certain extent you are both in the 
right, but, allow me to say, you are 
both in error in ascribing such 
exclusive importance to either. 
Dancing, it is true, contributes 
gracefulness to the carriage, and is 
an agreeable source of healthful re- 
creation and amusement; and music, 
while it soothes and affects the heart, 
refines the feelings : but you ought 
not to forget that they are merely 
sources of amusement, and if allowed 
to absorb all your attention, they 


COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 103 

defeat the very object for which they 
are taught.” 

“ But a person cannot play too 
well, Mama, can they?” asked Mary. 

“ No, my dear, I do not say that 
they can ; nothing can he done too 
well,” replied Mrs. Rivers ; “ but 
every thing is not of equal impor- 
tance to all persons. Thus it is of 
the highest importance to a profes- 
sional musician that he should be 
able to perform in a style superior to 
all other performers on the same in- 
strument; and, to do this, he too 
frequently sacrifices all other attain- 


104 COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 

ments. How frequently do we see 
artists, of great eminence, who can 
scarcely write a sentence grammati- 
cally, and who spell after a fashion 
entirely their own. Now though 
all this exertion may be necessary 
to enable such persons to reach the 
top of their profession, it would be 
in the highest degree blameable in 
a young lady to devote her attention 
so exclusively to one accomplish- 
ment as to neglect the proper culti- 
vation of her mind.” “ Oh yes, 
Mama !” said Laura, “ but” — Un- 
fortunately the remainder of her 


COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 105 

observation and Mama’s reply were 
interrupted by the arrival of visitors, 
long before whose departure some 
new subject had engaged the atten- 
tion of the disputants. 


6 


106 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

Harry and Lucy, not Miss Edge- 
worth’s Harry and Lucy, but a little 
boy and girl of the kind very com- 
mon forty years ago, fond of play, 
real play, not quite so fond of their 
hooks, and with not many books to 
be fond of, were at work, that is 
making work for others, in a hay- 
field behind their father’s house, one 
hot bright afternoon. Harry was 
provided with a rake, and Lucy a 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 107 

fork, and never was king or queen 
prouder of a nation’s sceptre. What- 
ever had been done by the real hay- 
makers, they imitated to the best 
of their ability. They spread and 
turned the hay, loaded their little 
wagon, for which they had no 
horses but themselves, unloaded it 
again at a rick of their own con- 
structing, and which might have 
made a bed for Tom Thumb, and 
finally grew so tired that they were 
glad to sit down. Their amuse- 
ments while resting from their 
fatigue, were no better than blow- 


108 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

ing the dandelions to tell what 
o’clock it was, sucking the honey 
out of the clover flowers, and 
wreathing their hats with harebells 
and robin-run-in-the-hedge. I fear 
all genteel masters and misses will 
think them sadly vulgar children, 
and very silly too, when I say that 
they were perfectly happy, and had 
no idea of wanting any thing beyond 
what they possessed. Haymaking 
does not last long ; and as Harry and 
Lucy were at home for the Mid- 
summer holidays, they found a 
variety of recreations, but all of the 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 109 

same stamp; the pleasure lay in 
being easily pleased, in manufactur- 
ing amusement for themselves ; 
therefore, a walk with their parents, 
a ride on a donkey, an excursion to 
gather strawberries, with permission 
to sit up to supper to eat them, 
rearing rabbits, feeding chickens, 
and many things equally simple, 
were considered high treats. In the 
winter holidays there was of course 
no haymaking, no summer amuse- 
ment of any kind ; but then there 
were skating and sliding on the pond 
for Harry, and looking-on for Lucy, 


110 RECREATION and dissipation. 

and now and then, with fast hold of 
her brother’s hand, a short slide on 
dry ground, suited to a little girl and 
her petticoats. Then they had in- 
doors amusements suited to the sex 
and age of each ; imprimis , a rock- 
ing-horse ; item, a box of skittles ; 
item, a fox and goose board ; item, 
a doll dressed by a young friend for 
Lucy, in a cradle manufactured by 
Harry ; battledores and shuttlecocks ; 
item, a top, a ball, a baby-house, a 
whip, a hoop, a bat, a cat, a dog, a 
canary bird, a fiddle, a bandelore, a 
cup and ball, and sundry similarities 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. Ill 

“ too numerous to mention.” Then 
came occasional gatherings of cousins 
and playfellows by the half score, 
and blindman’s huff, noise, and 
plumcake, from four in the after- 
noon till nine at night ; quite long 
enough for papa’s patience and 
mama’s head. I do not mean to 
deny that the pleasures of Harry and 
Lucy would have been improved 
had a little instruction been com- 
bined with them ; but it was forty 
years ago : The Nursery Library 
was not ; Pinnock’s Catechisms 
were not ; Captain Parry had not 


112 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

voyaged ; Mr. Belzoni had not 
travelled ; nor if they had, would 
people have thought of abridging 
their books for the sake of children. 
It was forty years ago ; and the con- 
trivances for playing knowledge into 
people had not been invented. So 
Harry and Lucy grew up, and learnt 
their lessons without catechisms to 
render them easy, and enjoyed their 
plays without contrivances to make 
them scientific. They grew up, 
not like Jack’s beanstalk, all in a 
night, but in a proper course of 
time ; and in a proper course of time 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 113 

they married. Harry had a little 
boy, called Harry after himself, and 
Lucy a little girl, in like manner 
named Lucy after herself ; and it is 
about Harry and Lucy the second, 
that I am now going to write. 

Little master and miss possess 
what are termed “acquirements;” 
they understand a little of a great 
deal ; a little botany, a little history, 
a little astronomy, a little of two or 
three languages, a little of four or 
five accomplishments, a little, very 
little — of themselves. They have 
maps, and games, and cards, and 
o* 


114 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

puzzles, and pictures, and toys, 
and models, mechanical, historical, 
and philosophical, without number. 
Their play-room is a bazaar : their 
hook case a library : nevertheless, 
neither Harry nor Lucy seem so 
happy as their parents did when 
children. They neither relish the 
simple pleasures peculiar to the past 
age, nor rightly value the superior 
instruction of the present. Over 
indulgence in one way is a sure 
preface to over indulgence in an- 
other ; and they already hanker after 
those amusements which, though 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. H5 

in reality childish, have a show of 
grandeur to the understandings of 
children. “What is the fun of 
having a pony,” cries Harry, “ if I 
may not ride to the races ?” “ And 
what pleasure is there in learning 
the quadrilles, if I may not go to a 
hall ?” suggests Lucy. The last 
matter came to a decision not long 
ago. It was Lucy’s birthday ; she 
completed her eleventh year ; and 
who so happy in the prospect of 
approaching teens, save her cousin 
Harry in the anticipation of collars 
and a dandy coat ? Now, Lucy’s 


116 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

mama, remembering the simple 
galas of her own childhood, whilst 
willing to celebrate her daughter’s 
birthday with all due honour, wish- 
ed also to do it with all due sim- 
plicity. Not so Miss Lucy herself. 
She had recently become acquainted 
at the dancing school with some 
little ladies about as old and wise as 
herself ; and it was agreed in cabinet 
council, that a dance was the only 
party worth having or worth going 
to. So home she came, to tease her 
mama into the project. Miss 
Jenkins, and Miss Jones, and Miss 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 117 

Joyce, and a host of Mary-Matildas, 
and Anna-Marias, and Charlottes 
and Carolines, none of them any 
older than herself, had given balls 
on their birth-days, and why might 
not she ? The logic of the lip is 
lost upon a spoiled child ; so poor, 
dear, kind, too kind mama was 
begged and prayed into compliance. 
The house was shortly all astir with 
preparations for an elegant supper ; 
the carpet was removed from the 
room ; the sideboard covered with 
w r ine and cake ; a good-natured 
grown up cousin, and a sensible 


118 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

disapproving aunt, lent their services 
for the evening ; and at the proper 
hour, about forty young ladies and 
gentlemen assembled, like-minded 
with their hostess and her cousin. 
Nothing was wanting to make it a 
ball in miniature ; there were flutter 
and finery, fans and flirtation in 
profusion. I was privately assured 
by the mistresses of the ceremonies, 
that managing this child’s party was 
the hardest work ever done by 
either. First came the providing of 
partners for pink-sashed belles of 
twelve, who, “only danced the 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 119 

quadrilles.” Then followed teach- 
ing manners to lubberly boys, who 
cared only for the cakes. Then 
ensued the taking down of monkey 
youths, who despite of white waist- 
coats and starched collars, knew not 
how to behave themselves. Then 
last, and not the least formidable 
of these occupations, was pacifying 
the younger branches — too little to 
dance — too important to play — and 
too troublesome to sit still. 

Lucy, to her own great amaze- 
ment, found herself much less happy 
than she expected on the present 


120 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

occasion ; for, as she sincerely de- 
sired to please her guests, she was 
hurt, when some of the leaders 
whispered to each other that it was 
a dull visit ; and as she had not been 
disciplined into had habits, the late 
hour, luxurious supper, noise, glare, 
and heat of the room, made her head 
ache sadly. 

Now her aunt Maria, who had 
kindly assisted during the evening, 
greatly disapproved the whole pro- 
ceeding, though she was too wise to 
say much at the time. There is a 
French proverb which says, that the 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 121 

day after a gala is always melan- 
choly, and every body, great or small, 
is more disposed to hear reason then, 
than at the moment of actual enjoy- 
ment, such as it is. So the next 
morning, when Lucy was lounging 
about the breakfast-room, wonder- 
ing what ailed her, aunt Maria began 
to talk to her. 

“What makes my little girl so 
dull to-day ?” 

“ Oh, aunt ! how can I he dull 
when I had so much pleasure last 
night?” 

“ Well then, so idle ?” 


122 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 


“ That is worse, ma’am.” 

“ So little inclined to do anything 
then?” 

“Why really, aunt, I have no- 
thing that I particularly like to do 
this morning.” 

“Yet your mama gave you a 
very interesting new book yester- 
day, and your papa gave you a 
microscope.” 

“ Yes, aunt, they did ; and very 
kind it was of them.” 

“Well, love, suppose you fetch 
your book, and read to me as I sit 
at work.” 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 123 

“ Yes, ma’am,” replied Lucy ; but 
she did not offer to stir from the 
window. 

“ Or if you like it better, come 
and examine these leaves through 
your glass.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the 
little girl, slowly approaching the 
w T ork-table. 

Aunt Maria looked at her and 
sighed. 

“ What have I done, aunt ?” 

66 Nothing, love,” replied the good 
lady, in a gentle tone. 

Lucy remained for some minutes ; 


124 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 


at length she exclaimed, “Aunt, I 
should like to know one thing.” 

Her aunt laid down her work and 
took off her spectacles. 

“I should like to know, aunt, 
whether if cousin Harry had not 
been so disagreeable last night” — 

“ What did cousin Harry do ?” 

“ Why he cut off the ends of my 
sash, and called me a cropped don- 
key, and made every one laugh.” 

“Well, love, go on.” 

“ And if I had not heard Maria 
Graves whisper to Mary Perkins, 
that Phoebe Jones’s party was much 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 125 


pleasanter than mine, — and if those 
tiresome little ones had not spoiled 
our quadrille, — and if — oh, aunt, 
isn’t it shameful — Mary Perkins is 
going to have a party of fifty on 
Wednesday, with real music to 
dance to.” 

“Your mama’s piano was real 
music, love.” 

66 Yes, ma’am ; but I mean music 
that is paid for — a flute and violin, 
and she has not invited me ; and I 
am sure I have always been more 
attentive to her than to any one 
else.” 


126 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

“ My dear Lucy,” said aunt Maria, 
smiling, “ you have got a long way 
from the one thing you wanted to 
know.” 

“No, aunt, it is this ; if none of 
these disagreeables had happened, 
should I have been quite happy last 
night ?” 

“ I do not know, Lucy ; perhaps 
other disagreeables might have hap- 
pened in their place.” 

“Well, aunt, something always 
does happen,” — and here Lucy’s 
eyes filled with tears of vexation, and 
aunt Maria’s with tears of sympathy. 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 127 

The kind lady drew the child to- 
wards her, and said, with serious 
tenderness, “ Instead of grieving, 
Lucy, you should rejoice that dissi- 
pation is rendered bitter to you at 
the beginning.” 

“What is Dissipation, aunt?” 

“ Any amusement, love, which 
wearies the body without refreshing 
the spirits; which unfits the mind 
for occupation ; and above all, which 
will not bear reflecting upon when 
over.” 

“Then what is Recreation, aunt ? ” 

“ Amusement which does not 


128 RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 

make us dislike our duty. Try last 
night’s pleasure by these tests, and 
tell me whether it was Dissipation 
or Recreation.” 

“ Oh, aunt !” exclaimed little 
Lucy, “ it was indeed Dissipation ; 
for I am cross, and tired, and un- 
happy this morning. I will never 
want any more.” 

“What, not if Mary Perkins 
should invite you to her party on 
Wednesday ?” 

Lucy hesitated; but at length 
said, “No, aunt, not if you will 
teach me to like Recreation better.” 


RECREATION AND DISSIPATION. 129 

“I will try, love,” replied her 
aunt, “ and you must try for your- 
self ; so now make a beginning, and 
fetch your birthday presents.” 

Lucy kissed aunt Maria with a 
brightened countenance, and ran off 
to fetch her book and microscope. 


7 


130 


CHARLES; 

OR, 

A CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 

Charles was past five years old, 
and when all his friends thought he 
must grow wise and good, he grew 
so bad that no one could bear him. 
If he saw a cake he would cry for 
it ; if he saw a top or ball he would 
cry for them ; in short, he could not 
wish for the least thing that he did 


CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 131 

not cry for : and, as he had been 
sick, his friends did not like to say 
a harsh word to him. 

Now this was not quite his own 
fault ; for while he was ill, an old 
nurse who was left to take care of 
him, did not treat him as she should 
have done. She would go to sleep 
by the side of his bed, and not mind 
him till she heard him cry ; and 
then when he did cry, she would 
do what he bade her. It was thus 
that poor Charles got these bad 
ways. 

No one knew what to do with 


132 CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 

him, and he was the plague of the 
whole house. At last an aunt of 
his said, “ Send him to me, and I 
will try if I can cure him of this 
fault.” So Charles was sent to his 
aunt’s house, and he was glad, for 
there was a fine large field for him 
to play in, and he saw cows, and 
sheep, and hens, and ducks. 

He was good for some time, and 
grew strong and well ; and his aunt 
took pains to tell him what a had 
thing it was to cry and scream. She 
was in hopes that he had left it off : 
but one day he went out to fly his 


CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 133 

kite in the field, there was no wind 
to raise the kite, and this put Charles 
in such a rage that he gave a loud 
roar, which his aunt heard. So she 
ran out with a small birch rod, and 
gave him a hard slap with it on one 
hand. This made him roar ten 
times worse ; but when the pain 
was past, Charles was still for the 
rest of the day. 

Three days more were gone by, 
and Charles had not been seen to cry 
or heard to scream ; but the third 
night he did not like what they gave 
him to eat, and said he must have a 


134 CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE, 

piece of toast. This, the maid told 
him, he could not have, as there 
was no fire to make it ; so Charles 
gave one of his loud screams, and 
when his aunt came in she found 
his face all red with rage and wet 
with tears. She said not a word, 
but took her small rod and gave him 
two hard slaps on his hands, which 
made him rub them and cry still 
more. But he soon went to bed in 
peace. 

Next day he got up cross ; and 
when the maid came to dress him, 
he gave her a kick, threw down the 


CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 135 

chair next to him, and said no one 
should wash him : the maid said, as 
his aunt had bid her wash him, she 
must do it, and she took hold of his 
arm. This made him shriek loud, 
and brought in his aunt and her rod 
of course. She gave him three slaps 
so hard, that the pain made him 
jump round the room, and he felt it 
for some hours. 

Each time his aunt came with 
the rod, she gave him more slaps, 
and made the slaps more hard : and 
Charles thought this a sad thing, and 
how glad he would be to have no 


136 CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 

birch rod in the house. So one day 
he went to his aunt and said, “ I 
will be a bad boy no more if you 
will burn the rod.” And his aunt 
said, “ Try to be a good boy, and in 
one month you shall have the rod 
to burn.” 

Next day when he could not 
catch the cat, Charles felt a wish to 
cry, but he put his hand on his 
mouth to try to stop it, and made no 
noise. And when the maid came 
to dress him, he let her wash and 
comb him, and did not say one 
word. In all the next week he did 


CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 137 

not cry ; but once he gave a small 
scream, and one jump in a rage, 
when his top did not spin well ; but 
he had so much sense as to take the 
top to his aunt, and beg of her to 
lock it up, as it had made him do 
wrong. 

At the end of the month Charles 
got leave to burn the rod, which 
made him dance with joy ; and in a 
few months his aunt sent him home 
quite a good boy. Just as he left 
her house, she told him that if he 
was still good in six months, she 

7* 


138 CURE FOR DISOBEDIENCE. 

would then go to see him, and bring 
him a hen that would lay eggs. 

So Charles w T ent home in great 
joy, and all his friends were glad to 
see him ; and when Charles was six 
years old, he had a nice white hen 
of his own, which laid five eggs in 
one week. 


139 


JANE, THE KIND GIRL. 

Jane was a child of five years 
old, who was good and kind to all. 
The girls who went to school with 
her were fond of her ; and the beasts 
and birds round the house would 
come when they heard her voice. 
All the fowls in the yard would run 
to her as soon as they saw her, and 
she was glad when she got leave to 
feed them. 


140 


THE KIND GIRL. 


One day when she came home 
from school she met her nurse, who 
gave her a bun ; and as it was a fine 
day she went to the field at the 
back of the house to eat it. 

She had just sat down by the 
hedge, when a poor thin dog came 
to look at her ; she gave him a small 
bit of her bun, and saw him eat it 
and wag his tail. Then an old man 
came out of a poor hut to call the 
dog, and Jane saw that he too was 
thin, and pale, and sick. So she 
gave him a large piece of her bun ; 
and he said, “Thank you, good 


THE KIND GIRL. 


141 


child !” and ate it, and told her that 
it did him good. 

The old man and his dog went 
back to the hut, and Jane ate the 
small bit of bun that was left, and 
felt much more glad than if she had 
eaten the whole. Yet she was fond 
of buns : and I am not sure, if the 
old man and his dog had been fat 
and strong, that she would have 
thought of a bit for them, as they 
did not ask for it ; but she saw that 
they were in great want, which put 
her in mind to share it with them. 

It was long till the next time that 


142 


THE KIND GIRL. 


Jane had a bun. As soon as she 
got one, she went to look for the 
old man and his dog, but could not 
find them ; and she met a hoy who 
told her that they were grown fat 
and well, and were gone to their 
own home a great way off. 


143 


HECTOR AND PETER. 

OR THE BATTLE ON THE BEACH. 

“Begone, you little ragged ur- 
chin, you have no right to come 
prawning on the sands before our 
villa, and, if I find you here again, 
you shall feel my horsewhip about 
your shoulders ! ” This threat was 
uttered by Master Hector Lebrun, 
a young gentleman about nine years 
of age. The boy he threatened was 


144 


HECTOR AND PETER. 


a year younger than himself, but 
this was no imputation upon his 
courage, for the ragged Peter Bruff 
was quite as tall, and, as the event 
proved, quite as strong as the ele- 
gantly dressed Hector Lebrun. 
When I was a hoy, I considered a 
long account of the dress and ap- 
pearance of persons a great hinder- 
ance to the progress of a story, and 
to make mine as short as possible, I 
have sketched the two youths as 
they stood talking to each other on 
the beach, and you will see the con- 
trast in their dress and appearance. 


HECTOR AND PETER. 145 

Peter BrufF was a good-natured 
quick-witted boy, and answered 
Hector’s threat with a loud laugh, 
and told him that the beach was 
free to every one, and that he 
should fish for prawns wherever he 
thought there was a chance of 
catching them ; “ and, as for your 
horsewhip,” continued Peter, “you 
had better keep that at home, or you 
may perhaps bring a whip for your 
own back!” “You insolent raga- 
muffin,” cried Hector in a rage, “ do 
you dare to talk in this way to the 
son of a gentleman, a captain in the 


146 


HECTOR AND PETER. 


army, while your father is only a 
dirty half-starved fisherman ! If 
yo tr don’t be gone without another 
word, I’ll beat you with my sword 
till you are black and blue.” , “ I 
care not for your wooden sword,” 
said Peter ; “ and if you don’t wish 
to have it broken about your head, 
you had better keep it where it is.” 
This taunt so enraged Hector that 
he tore the lath sword from its 
paper scabbard, and assailed Peter 
with great fury, while the latter 
defended himself most gallantly, and 
in the scuffle obtained possession of 


HECTOR AND PETER. 147 

the toy, which he broke in pieces, 
and threw into the sea. How long 
the battle w^ould have continued, or 
which of our heroes would have 
been the victor cannot be told, for 
in the very heat of the encounter, 
the voice of Captain Lebrun put an 
end to the combat. “ Cease fighting 
this instant, I command you both,” 
said he. The two boys, panting 
for breath, ceased at his bidding, 
and each was eager to excuse him- 
self and blame his opponent. 
“Silence!” said Captain Lebrun- 
“ there is no occasion for either of 


148 HECTOR AND PETER. 

you to explain the cause of your 
quarrel. I was sitting in the 
veranda, and overheard the whole 
of it. Hector, you were the aggres- 
sor ; you had no right to threaten 
Peter, or to upbraid him for his 
poverty ; but, as he has proved that 
he has the power to protect himself, 
and, if I may judge from your 
appearance, to punish you for your 
folly, I will say no more about it. 
Come, Peter, my boy, Hector is 
sorry for what he said; here is a 
franc for you, my brave fellow; 
when Hector is a year or two older, 


HECTOR AND PETER. 149 

he will be ashamed of boasting of 
his own riches, or insulting honest 
poverty.” The kindness of Captain 
Lebrun subdued the sturdy Peter, 
his eyes filled with tears, and he 
declared if it was displeasing to the 
Captain, he would never prawn in 
front of the villa again. “ No, no, 
Peter, prawn where you like, my 
brave boy, the beach is open to all,” 
said the Captain; then, turning to 
the mortified Hector, he continued, 
“ do not stand crying there, but shake 
hands with Peter, and let him go 
about his business.” “He broke 


150 HECTOR AND PETER. 

my sword,” cried Hector, “and I 
cannot forgive him.” “ For shame, 
boy, you were the aggressor, and 
Peter has forgiven your petulance, 
while you retain your anger !” “ I 
will shake hands with him now, 
Papa, because you wish it, but when 
I am a man I’ll — ” “ Treat him as 
an old friend I hope,” said the Cap- 
tain, finishing the half uttered sen- 
tence, “ and laugh at the battle on 
the beach. Good day, Peter !” 

The crest-fallen Hector followed 
his father into the villa, and Peter 
made the best of his way to his 


HECTOR AND PETER. 


151 


parents’ hut upon the beach, where 
he triumphantly displayed the franc 
which the captain had given him as 
the reward of valour. 

A few days after the occurrence 
I have just related, Captain Lebrun 
received an order from the govern- 
ment to attend at the War-office at 
Paris upon business of importance, 
which obliged him ultimately to 
take up his residence in that city ; 
and, when Hector arrived at the 
proper age, he was placed as a pupil 
in the celebrated Polytechnic school, 
and gained great approbation from 


152 HECTOR AND PETER. 

the learned professors of that esta- 
blishment for his perseverance and 
attainments. At the age of eighteen 
he was rewarded by a commission 
in the French army, and at his own 
solicitation was attached to a regi- 
ment then under orders to join the 
expedition against Algiers. 

It is unnecessary for my tale that 
I should describe the city of Algiers, 
or give an account of the embarkation 
and landing of the troops that were 
sent to take the place. It is suffi- 
cient for me to say that Hector 
Lebrun proved himself a most active 


HECTOR AND PETER. 153 

and useful officer, and that, previous 
to the storming of the city, it was 
considered necessary that a strong 
fortress, which commanded one of 
the principal entrances to the city, 
should be got possession of, and the 
regiment in which Hector served, 
was ordered to undertake this dan- 
gerous operation. The Algerines 
defended the fort with great bravery, 
and, as they were excellent marks- 
men, aimed particularly at the 
French officers. So many of them 
were killed that Hector found him- 
self the senior officer of the regi- 


154 HECTOR AND PETER. 

ment. So destructive had been the 
fire of the enemy, and so great the 
loss sustained by the French, that 
the soldiers were about to shrink 
from the contest. Hector gallantly 
rallied the men, and by bravely 
ascending the scaling ladder which 
led to the place from whence pro- 
ceeded the most determined defence, 
he raised the drooping courage of the 
soldiers, and incited them to make 
one more effort. He was eagerly 
followed by the troops, and in a few 
minutes gaining footing, the French 
flag waved triumphantly over the 


HECTOR AND PETER. 


155 


battlement, and the victory appeared 
secure. At this moment, however, 
the gates of the city were thrown 
open, and a numerous body of Al- 
gerines attacked the besiegers of the 
fort. The French soldiers were 
panic-struck at the appearance of 
this fresh reinforcement, and being 
greatly exhausted by their former 
exertions, made a hasty retreat, 
leaving Hector and the few brave 
fellows who followed him into the 
fortress in the hands of the enraged 
Algerines, who would have put 
them to instant death had not the 


156 HECTOR AND PETER. 

Algerine chief, in the hope of mak- 
ing an advantage of his prisoners, 
rescued them from the fury of his 
soldiers. Hector was separated from 
his companions, and conducted to a 
dungeon on that side of the fortress 
nearest the sea. Worn out with 
the extraordinary fatigue which he 
had undergone, Hector laid himself 
down on the cold stones, and soon 
fell as fast asleep as if he lay upon 
a bed of down. He was awakened 
at day-dawn on the following morn- 
ing by the thunder of artillery, and 
from the tremendous uproar on all 


HECTOR AND PETER. 157 

sides of the fortress, he concluded 
that the French were making the 
grand attack upon the city. In a 
few hours the firing ceased, and 
Hector began to search about the 
apartment for water to allay his 
raging thirst. He could find none. 
He groped around till he found the 
door, and tried to make himself 
heard by knocking and bawling as 
long as he was able, but he could 
obtain no answer. All was silent 
without, save the dashing of the 
waves as they broke against the 
fortress. In the meanwhile his 


158 


HECTOR AND PETER. 


thirst increased every moment, till 
at last almost gasping for breath, 
he threw himself on the floor in 
despair. 

How long he remained in this 
state he knew not ; all that he could 
remember afterwards, was a con- 
fused ringing in his ears, and a 
heavy oppressive feeling as if a huge 
load was laid on his chest. His 
tongue grew black and swollen, and 
he must soon have perished had not 
a little band of sailors come to his 
relief. They broke down the door 
of his prison, and seeing no one in 


HECTOR AND PETER. 159 

it but a person lying on the floor 
motionless, they hastily concluded 
that he was dead, and were hurry- 
ing away, when their leader called 
them to stop, and going towards the 
body began to examine it. Though 
motionless, he saw that there was 
still life, and taking it up in his 
arms, he bore it from the dismal 
place to a more open and well 
furnished apartment. Here he. ad- 
ministered such restoratives as he 
could command, and had the plea- 
sure of soon seeing his patient revive 
so much as to be able to swallow a 


160 HECTOR AND PETER. 

little wine and water, which he 
administered with almost feminine 
gentleness. 

When the prisoner had so far 
recovered, he anxiously inquired the 
name of his deliverer; he was told 
it was Lieutenant Peter Bruff. For 
a long time Hector was at a loss to 
imagine where he had seen his 
deliverer, whose features and name 
were both familiar to him, flitting 
before his eyes with dream-like 
indistinctness. 

It was indeed Peter Bruff, the 
poor fisherman’s son, who, having 


HECTOR AND PETER. 161 

entered the naval service of his 
country, had by intelligence and 
good conduct gradually raised him- 
self to the rank of lieutenant ; and 
no sooner was the fortress in the 
power of the French than he sought 
and obtained permission from his 
commanding officer to proceed to 
the dungeons to release the captives, 
of which he well knew there were 
many confined in those dark and 
dismal receptacles. 

When Hector discovered who his 
deliverer was, the battle on the 
beach immediately rushed into his 


162 


HECTOR AND PETER. 


recollection. Mr. Bruff, too, re- 
membered it well, and though they 
afterwards often laughed heartily 
at their mimic warfare, Captain 
Lebrun declared that the lesson 
which had been then taught him, 
he had never forgotten ; and that 
the broken sword of the battle on 
the beach had been of more use to 
him in his progress through life, 
than many events of a far more 
lofty character. 


163 


HYMN, 

BY THE SICK BED OF A MOTHER. 

Father ! that in the olive shade, 

When the dark hour came on, 

Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid, 

Strengthen thy Son ; 


Oh ! by the anguish of that night, 

Send us down blest relief ; 

Or to the chasten’d let thy might 

Hallow this grief; 


164 


HYMN. 


And Thou, that when the starry sky 
Saw the dread strife begun, 

Didst teach adoring faith to cry, 

“Thy will be done !” 


By thy meek spirit, thou, of all 
That e’er have mourn’d the chief, 

Thou Saviour ! if thy stroke must fall, 

Hallow this grief! 








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165 


THE RIVERS. 

Go ! trace the unnumbered streams, o’er earth 
That wind their devious course, 

That draw from Alpine heights their birth, 
Deep vale, or cavern source. 


Some by majestic cities glide, 
Proud scenes of man’s renown, 
Some lead their solitary tide, 
Where pathless forests frown. 


166 


THE RIVERS. 


Some calmly roll in golden sands, 
Where Afric’s deserts lie ; 

Or spread, to clothe rejoicing lands 
With rich fertility. 


These bear the bark, whose stately sail 
Exulting seems to swell ; 

While these, scarce rippled by a gale, 
Sleep in the lonely dell. 


Yet on, alike, though swift or slow 
Their various waves may sweep, 
Through cities or through shades they flow 
To the same boundless deep. 


THE RIVERS. 


167 


Oh ! thus, whate’er our path of life, 
Through sunshine or through gloom, 
Through scenes of quiet or of strife, 

Its end is still the tomb. 


The chief, whose mighty deeds we hail, 
The monarch throned on high, 

The peasant in his native vale, 

All journey on — to die ! 


But if Thy guardian care, my God ! 

The pilgrim’s course attend, 

I will not fear the dark abode, 

To which my footsteps bend. 


































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